Waking Nightmare
by yumi michiyo
Summary: A canon divergence. Miroku was gone when Sango woke up. Or was he? A four part serial. Miroku/Sango. WARNING: Mindfuckery. Very dark themes.
1. One: Waking Nightmare

Alone in the room, she huddled. White, bloodied bandages encircle her head, covering most of her hair; although she wants to tear at them, some common sense dictates she leave them.

"Sango?"

She stared blindly in the direction of the soft male voice. "Houshi-sama... he isn't coming back, is he?" she demanded. "I woke up one day and he was gone; where did he go?"

If she had tried, she would have seen despair flicker over her visitor's face. "Sango – please eat." The faint clickclack of laquered bowls against each other as he set the tray down. "You have to eat something – you need to build up your strength, you haven't eaten since – "

"Why do you call me Sango?" she demanded. "You always used to call me Ane-ue."

* * *

Today, he visited her early in the morning before she was ready. Sango jerked awake from her nightmare to find him kneeling beside her pillow.

"What are you doing here, Kohaku?"

"You were having a bad dream," came the gentle voice. Warm hands grazed hers, smoothing over her crumpled sleeves and coming to rest on her shoulders. "You were screaming."

Sango shook her head. "In my dreams, he leaves and he never comes back. He leaves me and my broken heart, my broken body, my broken soul."

He shook her shoulders – lightly, to clear her thoughts of the melancholy. "You aren't broken, Sango. Never say that."

She blinked and the glazed look dissipated from her eyes. "Ane-ue," she said softly.

* * *

_The nightmare is always the same; she is standing in a field of flowers. Lilies. White lilies as far as the eye can see. Beautiful flowers perfectly white, bowing gracefully in the wind._

_She is the imperfect one which marrs the field._

_He stood on the edge of the flowers, his purple robes flying in the breeze. The rings of his shakujou jingle in the breeze._

"_Miroku?"_

_Faceless, he smiled; limbless, he turned around and began to walk away._

_His voice drifted over to her, carried by the wind: goodbye, Sango. _

"_Miroku!" Sango breaks into a run; the faster she pumps her legs, the farther away he gets. Smiling, always smiling._

_Finally, she can run no more. She collapsed into the field of flowers, her fingers curling into the dirt in helpless frustration – these hands which soothed nighttime fears, threw Hiraikotsu, slapped monks can now only dig into earth._

_All she has are the lilies._

"_Miroku!"_

Sango woke up gasping for breath. Tears begin to flow from her eyes; the nightmare was so beautiful. That is precisely why it is a nightmare.

* * *

Sango was picking at the loose end of white cloth dangling from over one ear when he entered, carrying a wooden bucket.

"It's time to remove those bandages, Sango," he said.

She quirked an eyebrow at him as he knelt down and began easing away the sticky bandage from her scalp. "I was too careless," she remarked. "The boar youkai shouldn't have caught me off guard like that."

"We all make mistakes now and then, don't we?" He ran the washcloth over her skin and pulled away. "There – done."

"Thank you, Kohaku."

He ducked his head as he was leaving, careful not to let her see his face.

* * *

His knock: firm, brisk, intentional; came as she was busy putting away her bedding – a habit ingrained into her since she was a girl. Sango nodded in silent approval; he learned the rules she set for him fast.

"May I come in now?" he asked.

"Not yet..." She fastened the white ribbon in her hair and smoothed her fringe. "Alright, now."

The door slid open; his footsteps resounded through the floor. "You look beautiful," he said with a shaky laugh, cupping her cheek.

She jerked back, her face aflame and scrambled for her hidden weapons which are not there – she remembered, too late, that they were consigned along with Hiraikotsu to the shed at the back of the house when she had her accident. "Kohaku, you...!" His touch had awakened feelings she would never have associated with her little brother.

He flinched, his hand frozen in midair. "I – I'm sorry, Sa – Ane-ue. Please forgive me, I... forgot myself."

Sango's face was still very red as she tentatively inched back to him, where he sat, pain engraved into each line of his features. "... No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have overreacted like that. It was merely an innocent gesture – Kohaku, please forgive me." She touched his forehead, smoothing back his unruly bangs, wondering how she had let them grow so long.

Eventually he lifted his face to hers – cheeks tear-streaked from crying – and manages a smile. "Ane-ue." Sango smiled reassuringly and opening her arms, drew him down into an embrace.

"It's alright," she whispered into his ear, rocking him as she used to do years ago. "Everything will be alright." A choked sob escaped his lips; she shushed him and stroked his hair.

* * *

"Do you want to go outside? You've been cooped up in here for a long time."

"Mmm, that's true." Sango tilted her head, a vaguely curious expression crossing her face. "I haven't been training with Hiraikotsu for too long – Father would have been furious."

He held out his hand. "Come on, then." She smiled and took it, letting him pull her away.

"Where are you taking me, Kohaku?"

Sunlight dazzled her momentarily; when her eyes grew accustomed to the change in lighting, she gazed at the verdant landscape that stretched out as far as she could see. Utterly cliche as it was, birdsong filled the nearby forest and a warm breeze tickled her fringe. His hand was warm in hers.

She laughed. "Ah – I've been inside too long." The newly-healed wound on her head throbbed briefly.

Sango felt a rush of childish joy as she tugged on his hand. "Come on! Let's go, Kohaku!" She was delighted when he smiled back; he was far too stoic for a boy his age. Never mind she hardly saw him smile these days.

She could not find the river she remembered playing by as a girl but Kohaku led her to another one; it was still a river, though not quite the same.

"Do you remember when you fell in and when Father fished you out, you had a fish in your hand? Father said we never need go hungry as long as you keep falling into the water." Peals of laughter followed the memory.

Something flickered in his eyes.

Sango sobered instantly. "I'm sorry – I keep forgetting. Selfish of me."

"No, San – Ane-ue. It's not your fault."

"You haven't really recovered all your memories," she said, regarding him solemnly. "You haven't been the same since Naraku, Kohaku..." Her fists clenched in her kimono. "We killed him; Inuyasha, Kagome-chan, me, Kirara... Houshi-sama..." A tear slid down her face. "I loved him but still Houshi-sama left, Kohaku... he left me, one summer day in a field of lilies..."

He seized her in a fierce embrace, one hand cradling her head, pressing her face to his chest. "He'll come back, Ane-ue. I promise. He'll come back because he loves you too."

"Everything I love leaves me eventually – even Kirara's gone," mumbled Sango in a small voice. "Except you. You're all I have left, Kohaku." Her hands came up around his neck, clinging tightly as though she was afraid he would disappear.

He was crying again; his broad shoulders shaking in her arms. And she wondered since when her little brother had learnt to feel her pain, to cry for her because Sango could not.

* * *

It was raining, and Sango's mood was spoilt somewhat by the gloomy weather.

"Bored?"

He stood in the doorway, holding something familiar –

"Hiraikotsu?"

Dusty, blunted and yellowed; her trusty weapon was otherwise unaffected by the passage of time. He gave it to her, along with her favourite polishing cloth.

"I thought you might want to clean it up – then we can go out demon slaying again."

Sango sighed, running her hand over the worn bone. "I don't know, Kohaku – I haven't been training for a while and I haven't gone out on an extermination since Houshi-sama left. Plus, I bet you've been practising with your kusari-gama."

"You'll be fine." He knelt beside her, taking her hand into his. "There's something special between you and Hiraikotsu."

"That's because it's alive." A memory brightened her eyes. "You know, Kohaku, I haven't told you yet; while I was travelling with Houshi-sama and the others, I sacrificed Hiraikotsu for him while we were battling a bone youkai." She settled back more comfortably. "With the help of the medicines of Yakurou Dokusen-sama, it was eventually restored. But Houshi-sama was the one who saved Hiraikotsu; then, Houshi-sama didn't know I knew that he drank the poison that made him unable to feel pain and thus restored it."

A wistful look appeared on her features. "Houshi-sama nearly killed himself later because he was unable to feel any pain from taking up shouki into his Kazaana; he always gets hurt trying to save me."

"I'm sure he has his reasons."

Sango nodded slowly. "At first, I hated him because he was a lecher, and he was forever groping me. But he was always saving me in times of danger."

"I don't know when it turned to love. Maybe it happened in between my worrying myself sick while waiting for Houshi-sama to wake up after sucking in too much saimyoshou poison and when I was worried about you and he would be there, reminding me there was still hope – " she broke off suddenly, her chest heaving.

She dabbed at her eyes furiously with her sleeve. "I loved him – and I thought he loved me. He proposed to me, promised me a life together when Naraku was dead and the Kazaana was gone."

There was tears in his eyes as well.

"What then?"

"We were married and we were happy. Until that day – " she shook her head.

He moved closer, wrapping an arm around her waist. "He will come back; Houshi-sama never really left."

"What do you mean?"

"Do you remember anything before the day Houshi-sama left?" he pressed. "Just before – the few weeks, days before..."

Sango frowned. "Not much; I remember going out on an extermination mission and fighting boar youkai... one caught me off balance... I remember hitting my head and waking up with you." Her hand flew to the scar on the back of her head; another trophy to add to her collection, no more.

"Nothing else?" He was gripping her wrist so tightly it hurt – she cried out.

"Kohaku, you're hurting me! What's the matter?"

The pressure vanished instantly; he immediately backed away, a look of horror in his eyes. "Sango, I'm sorry..."

"Ane-ue," she corrected patiently, discreetly rubbing her wrist. "Why do you keep calling me Sango?"

"I never intended to hurt you," he continued as though she had not spoken; he stared at his hands in disbelief.

"We always end up hurting the people we care about," said Sango. "It's a fact of life; a sad truth we must accept. We hurt because we care too much..."

He forced a chuckle. "Since when were you so wise?"

She shook her head. "I never was – it's something Houshi-sama used to say."

He blanched and climbed to his feet; leaning against the wall for support, he staggered out of the room with a hurried, "I'll be back soon."

Sango went after him. "Kohaku, your face is so pale – what's wrong? Are you ill?"

"No – no, I'll be fine, don't worry about me..."

"Kohaku – "

He paused in the door frame. "Sango, please. I'm fine." His voice wavered with false bravado which barely concealed the anguish filling it.

* * *

He was sitting on the veranda, staring into space when a familiar tread caught his attention.

"... You're back."

The newcomer's face would have been handsome, if it had not been permanently etched with worry lines. "How is she?"

"No change from the last time you came home."

Kirara mewed anxiously and wound herself around his legs; he bent to pat her.

"Haven't Kagome-sama's medicines from her time worked?"

"Miraculous as they are, she said there are some afflictions that healers haven't learnt to cure yet – and I don't think they ever will." He poured some tea for the newcomer, who accepted it with a grateful smile and nod. "Kagome-sama did say head injuries are notoriously difficult."

The newcomer took a long sip of tea. "I think I shouldn't leave home any more – I should stay home and care for her."

"No. I'll be frank with you; we need the money the extermination jobs bring. I've heard of a healer in the far north, where the Ainu live, who can work miracles; Yoshi just returned from a trip there, he said he saw the man bring back someone from the dead."

His eyes lit up with a desperate light – the eyes of a man at his wits' end with absolutely nothing left to lose.

"... Don't raise your hopes," said the newcomer quietly. "It has been so long and she's shown no signs of improvement."

"What else can I do?"

The newcomer rested a callused hand on his shoulder. "Houshi-sama – it has been a year."

Miroku stared at the floor. "Only a year since her accident? I... time passes so fast. Perhaps it's karma for the indiscretions of my youth that the one woman I truly love forgot me so easily and completely." He slammed his fist into the mat. "Even though she has no idea who I am, I manage to hurt her still – she has nightmares in which I leave her. Again and again."

Kohaku gripped his brother-in-law's shoulder tightly. "Does Ane-ue still think you're me – has she ever asked about you?"

"She demands I call her Ane-ue when I forget and call her 'Sango'," answered the older man. "She treats me as she does you in every respect. She even talks about the past; every other memory perfectly preserved, and she – " He took a moment to compose himself before continuing. " – she continues to believe I broke her heart by leaving her."

He looked up and smiled bitterly. "Isn't it amazing what one ill-placed rock will do? She remembers everything else... she just can't recognize the people in her memories. Perfectly herself, in every way but one."

"Kohaku?"

They both froze as Sango's voice echoed around the tiny hut. She appeared then; framed in the doorway, her hair loose from its usual ponytail, falling about her face.

"Kohaku, I – Oh, I'm sorry..."

"Don't worry, Ane-ue," forced out Miroku, his eyes squeezed shut. "You didn't interrupt anything."

Sango nodded. "Good morning," she said politely. "Are you a friend of Kohaku's?"

Kohaku stared back; his eyes swirled with a thousand different emotions. Unlike Miroku's mask of anguish, his is perfectly composed, save for a slight trembling in his hand. "... Yes, onee-sama."

_Perfectly herself, in every way but one._

She bowed. "Please, call me Sango. Forgive me for interrupting so rudely, I'll leave you two to talk."

Miroku's shoulders shook as the sound of her footsteps receded down the hallway.


	2. Two: Remember

"We're almost there."

The journey had been long and arduous; the land of the Ainu was many ri away.

"That village there!" called Miroku. "The one with the long plume of smoke!" It had to be the place; there was no other sign of human habitation in the vicinity.

His eyes remained trained on the place, feeling the heavy surge of hope riding on it; it rose in the back of his throat, nearly choking him.

* * *

The Ainu were friendly enough; the headman greeted them in a pidgin Japanese.

"You bring her to Shinriki," said the man, nodding at Sango. "He help her."

Fortunately for Miroku and Kohaku, Shinriki's Japanese was reasonably fluent. "I visited your land as a youth," he said offhandedly by way of explanation, turning his attention to Sango. "Sit down – what ails you?"

"She hit her head on a rock a year ago and was knocked out," explained Kohaku – Miroku seemed incapable of talking. "When she woke up, she was unable to recognize her husband and brother – but the rest of her memory remains intact."

The old healer clucked his tongue. "Ay – head injuries are difficult. I cannot promise you anything." To Sango, he said: "Give me your hand."

She obeyed, albeit reluctantly. "Kohaku? Why have you taken me to a healer, I'm not sick."

Miroku patted her free hand.

"He can help us."

He pretended not to see the puzzled look she shot at him.

* * *

Halfway through the examination, Miroku and Kohaku were both asked to leave. "I must examine her thoroughly," explained Shinriki patiently. "It's best if you two were not present – it might upset her."

"What are you going to do?"

"Her memories are all _there_ – " he tapped the side of his head for emphasis, " – but they are – what is the word? – _hidden_. I am going to try to awaken them to her."

* * *

"Houshi-sama..."

Miroku looked up. His brother-in-law was wearing a calculated blank mask – one he remembered from Kohaku's time as an reanimated puppet.

"Yes, Kohaku?"

"What if... what if Ane-ue doesn't get better?"

In that instant, the lost little boy stared directly at him; slowly grasping the notion of _being completely alone. _It passed, and Miroku shook his head.

* * *

When they emerged, pale and wan, Miroku's first instinct was to spring to Sango's side. "Sango?"

She offered him a tired smile. "Kohaku."

The old healer shook his head. "I have done everything I can."

"She will never regain her memory?"

"I did not say that," he rejoined, looking offended. "I have done everything I can – but in the end, it depends on her heart. Her will to remember what is lost to her."

Shinriki's gaze drifted between the men. "For both your sakes, I hope she will remember."


	3. Three: Eyes Wide Open

_Reality is created out of confusion and contradiction, and if you exclude those elements, you're no longer talking about reality._ ~ _Murakami Haruki, **Underground**_

_

* * *

_"What do you think, Kagome-sama?"

She hesitated, using her cup of tea to hide the fact she had done so.

"I... I don't know, Miroku-sama." The young miko was deliberately avoiding his eyes. "I'm not a trained doctor, and there's no way we can bring Sango-chan to my time to see one."

"Surely there is another way?" he pressed. "A potion, or an obscure remedy. Something we haven't tried yet – "

Kagome shook her head violently. She finally lifted her head to his; her eyes were brimming with tears.

"There is nothing – even though I've never stopped searching," she whispered. "Miroku-sama... I can't do anything this time." Her thin hands clutched the fabric of her hakama. "I'm completely helpless."

Miroku slumped visibly; he stared blankly out the door as the young woman in front of him began to sob.

* * *

Kohaku was due to leave that morning. Wind swept across the fields, ruffling his hair the way Sango did not.

"You'll be alright here, Houshi-sama?" _Alone with my sister._

Miroku smiled gently. "You really need to break that habit of calling me that; it's so formal."_ Don't call me that just because she can't._

He replied with a nod, and hopped onto Kirara's back.

The monk stood by and watched the man he was not (but was) become a black speck on the horizon, and then nothing. Miroku disappeared into the house then; it was getting late and he had to prepare lunch.

* * *

Kagome came again, with Inuyasha this time. Miroku tried not to let his gaze linger on their entwined fingers, or the little looks they shared. The small things were the most painful.

"How is Sango-chan?" were the first words out of her mouth.

"No change."

Inuyasha's face was grim.

Sango came in then. "Kagome-chan, Inuyasha," she said, coming over to give her best female friend a hug. As the older girl pulled away, a frown crossed her face. "Kagome-chan, have you been crying?"

"I – no!" She hurriedly scrubbed her face with the back of her hand. "Just some... dust... in my eye."

Astute as ever, the former slayer shot her a look which indicated the matter was not closed – and promptly changed the subject. "That suits you," Sango commented, nodding at the miko's clothes Kagome wore now. "How's married life?"

She smiled shyly as Inuyasha snorted in the background. "It's alright... actually, we're planning to move back, stay here in this time permanently. Kaede-baa-chan is going to train me as a proper miko."

"Really? That's great news!"

Kagome glanced at Miroku discreetly; he nodded in silent gratitude.

The visit dragged on, Kagome chattering the most. Inuyasha answered in monosyllables when prompted, and Miroku did not speak at all. It was mostly prattle; filling the otherwise awkward atmosphere with sound, a pretense of normalcy. Layered beneath Kagome's light tone was the silent plea to _remember_.

Then a lull in the conversation occurred, and Inuyasha spoke up.

"Hey, Sango," he said gruffly. "What happened to Miroku?"

"Inuyasha!" Kagome nudged him none-too-gently, suddenly a deathly shade of white, but the damage had been done. Miroku watched her furtively from the corner of his eye; apparently Inuyasha was not willing to soften the blow.

"He left," she said shortly. "One morning, he was just gone."

"No, he didn't." Gold eyes bored into brown. "Think, Sango. Do you really believe that idiot would leave?"

Kagome gave up on trying to shut her husband up and simply watched, her hand over her mouth. Miroku held his breath, ready to kill Inuyasha if Sango showed any signs of distress.

They were not expecting her to sit a little straighter, her eyes clear and steady and say quietly: "No."

Before Miroku could recover, she continued: "Somehow, I feel like he never left... like he's always watching, always looking out for me."

He got up and left the room in a hurry before she could see him cry.

* * *

She was sitting on the veranda, her hand moving mechanically over Hiraikotsu's surface; her standard activity when she wanted time to think.

Miroku joined her not long afterward. "Shouldn't you be doing that inside?" he inquired mildly, testing the waters of her mood.

Sango scrubbed the bone; her reflection stared back almost accusingly. "It's cooler out here."

He smiled to himself; autumn was fast drawing to a close. The weather was best described with any other word other than _cooler_. She was as stubborn as always.

"Kohaku?"

"Hmm?"

The slayer gave her Hiraikotsu one last buff before putting it to one side. "If I tell you something, will you promise to listen? Just... just hear me out, no matter how crazy it sounds."

Miroku watched her face; the emotions never stood still, running into each other like water. "Of course. You can tell me anything, Ane-ue."

"I feel like this is a dream." Sango clasped her hands in her lap. "This – _you_ – it isn't real. Like a waking dream I'm living in and I'm not waking up." She gave a shaky laugh. "I know I'm not making any sense, but I – "

His jaw had gone slack as she spoke: Miroku took some time to regain his composure. "No. I mean – it's fine. You're not going mad." He reached for her icy-cold hand, squeezing and caressing.

A smile touched the corner of her mouth. "I could always talk to you," Sango murmured. Her free hand went to his shoulder. "You've grown up without me noticing..."

Before he could return her tentative affection, cold realization trickled down his spine. _She wasn't falling in love with a dream, was she? If she was to never wake...  
_

"Sango, I – "

She stiffened and pulled away from him, her entire body rigid with tension. "I'm tired," Sango muttered hastily, her face aflame. "Good night."

Miroku wondered what she had seen to make her behaviour so erratic.

* * *

Sango was slowly going mad.

She would look at Kohaku's face – and see Miroku's. Then Kohaku's smile. Miroku's laugh. Kohaku's hand. Miroku's touch.

Back and forth again until they were facets of the same person.

Who was the dream? Who was the reality?

Or were they both dreams, and she the wandering reality?

* * *

Miroku snuck out of the house to pay Kagome a visit the next morning while Sango was still asleep.

"Miroku-sama?" she mumbled sleepily. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Sango's been acting strange lately." He was one mass of nerves, a broken-down shade of the man he used to be. "I don't know what's wrong, and I'm afraid to ask."

Kagome looked at her pale, strained friend and wanted to weep; not only for the loss of Sango's wellbeing and her friends' happiness, but also for the loss of Miroku.

"Is she..." the young miko fumbled for words she was almost too afraid to say: "... is she remembering?"

Miroku looked away. "If it's this painful for her, I don't want her to."

* * *

Slowly, as autumn melted into winter, Miroku found more and more reasons to become Sango's shadow. Never openly following her, never intruding into her privacy; but always watching over her and becoming _there_ when she needed him.

Even as Miroku faded into a quiet figure of stability, Sango became more conflicted.

Shadowy figures coalesced into solid ghosts; Miroku _was_ and _was not_ again.

Her head hurt. Sango massaged her temples, feeling the ebb and flow of tension beneath her fingertips. For some reason, it was hurting more frequently than usual. Especially when she tried to make sense of the chaos that surrounded her.

"Let me do it." He was there, waiting patiently for her say-so. Sango nodded and tilted her head to allow him better access.

"Is everything alright, Sango – Ane-ue? You've been very quiet of late."

"No, nothing." She enjoyed the long talks with Kagome they had been having frequently; now that she and Inuyasha were staying for good, there was so much to catch up with, so many stories from the future to share. Even if they often left her with a headache and the nagging feeling there was something missing, something lurking just out of the picture. "I'm just tired, that's all." The bleak winter landscape meant inactivity for days on end, while the snowstorms raged and made work scarce. "Strange, considering I haven't been training. I'm getting lazy."

He chuckled. "You, lazy? I can't picture that."

"Neither can I." It was cozy inside the small hut; Sango leaned her head back onto his shoulder. It smelt of incense and ink.

Smells she had never associated with her little brother.

And yet it felt right to be comforted, supported by him – whoever he was –

_... is?_

Sango stared; Miroku opened his mouth to ask her if everything was alright but fell silent upon seeing the expression on her face. Her eyes, not looking but really seeing him for who he was.

"M – Miroku?"


	4. Four: Truth in Deception

A/N: Kohaku's 'name' Minoru means 'truth'. The suzuribako is a Japanese writing box in which all writing equipment is kept.

* * *

_And we shall not see superficial dreams_

_nor be deluded._

_~Kobou Daishi, __**Iroha no Uta**_

* * *

Kohaku leaned forward impatiently, searching the face of the man seated opposite him. "And then?"

"... Nothing. That was it." Miroku, in stark contrast to his brother-in-law, was perfectly composed. The ubiquitious cups of tea sat steaming between them. "Sango... is still the same way."

The other man leaned back on his haunches, closing his eyes. His white-knuckled fists trembled on his thighs.

"Damn it, Miroku," he said at last. "How can you bring yourself to say that so calmly..."

"I know she will recover." The monk rubbed the bridge of his nose. "I know it. Sooner or later." Miroku looked up. "It might be slow, but Sango will come back to us."

Kohaku stared dully back. "I admire your faith, _Houshi-sama_," he muttered, emphasizing the title deliberately. "But if you ask me, there isn't much in this world to have faith in." As he got to his feet, the collar of his slayer's outfit slipped a little, revealing the two identical diamond-shaped scars on the back and front of his neck. Kohaku tugged at his clothes and hid them from view.

Miroku walked him outside, where Kirara and Sango were seated together on the veranda.

"Leaving already, Minoru-san?" asked Sango brightly. Kohaku blinked, and nodded. Kirara rubbed against his ankles.

"Yes, Sango-san. Thank you for your hospitality." A muscle twitched in his jaw.

"It seems we siblings weren't meant to stay together," he said aside to Miroku. "It really does hurt when they are unable to recognize you no matter how hard you want them to, ne? We've come full circle now, Ane-ue and I."

The older man squeezed Kohaku's shoulder. There were no words he could bring himself to say; he sounded just like Sango had those years ago, when she was at her lowest.

As the slayer mounted a transformed Kirara, he addressed Miroku: "I won't be back for quite a while this time."

"Certainly," replied the monk. "I understand completely."

Kohaku's gaze rested on Sango for a moment, and Kirara rose into the sky.

* * *

Sango rubbed her temples. A most curious thing had happened the other day; it felt like her head had split open. It had hurt immensely, that she could recall.

The most peculiar thing was the lingering happiness afterward, and a sense of something missing that had been found and lost again...

She decided not to bother Kohaku with her troubles. Poor man, he always looked so sad; she supposed it was the shock of growing up before his time and being burdened by the sad broken shell of a sister.

Hearing the sound of his footsteps approaching, Sango quickly smoothed her hair and pretended nothing was amiss.

* * *

Miroku's eyes followed Sango's every move closely that night, over dinner; now and then, her hand would dart to her head and she was avoiding eye contact with him.

"San – Ane-ue, is something wrong?"

She forced a smile – he could tell. "N – no, nothing at all. I'm fine."

"You could never tell a lie to save your life," he answered, smiling playfully at her. "Come on, tell me the truth. What's bothering you?"

Sango hesitated, and then put down her rice bowl.

He caught the fleeting look on her face and the smile disappeared. "The headaches again?"

"Y – yes. They're back – but they aren't as painful and frequent as before," she added hastily.

"Maybe we should consult Kaede-sama – "

" – No! I mean... It's nothing," Sango insisted, laying a hand over Miroku's.

His brows knitted together. "She could make you an infusion – just to dull the pain. There's no need for you to suffer."

* * *

The elderly miko's potions (made with the help of Kagome) did help; the headaches subsided in both intensity and frequency. But she was losing her lucidity, and it disturbed her.

On one hand, it felt good – peaceful, even – to come to her senses and not remember what she was doing and how she got there. No worrying about her prematurely aged brother, the ruins of their heritage – pushed to the back of her mind but always present, her here-and-not visions of Miroku... just the calm vagueness.

But still the lingering feeling of _something missing_ remained; stubbornly. Sango could not understand why.

Winter that year was bitingly cold as the icy winds swept in from the north; blizzards howled practically every day. Miroku had expressly forbidden her from setting foot outside the door – she acquiesced, remembering the time she had almost frozen to death pursuing the Yuki Onna. Freezing half to death was an experience she was unwilling to repeat.

That night, she lay huddled under a mass of blankets, wrapped in every article of clothing she owned and was still cold. She shivered and curled into a tighter ball.

"Sango?"

The dark figure at the other end of the room stirred and approached. He was clad in dark blue and purple robes, so reminiscent of her Houshi-sama; she wondered if he knew.

A large, warm hand groped in the dark for hers. "Sango, you're freezing." A pause.

"... May I sleep here with you tonight?"

Too cold to correct him, even to protest, she nodded. She felt the blankets being gently eased from her body – cold air gushed in – and quickly replaced by a dull warmth.

He was warm, drowningly so; arms pulled her back against his front and his face pressed into her hair. His hands found hers in the tangled nest of blankets and completely covered them.

"Better?" he breathed into her ear.

"Mmm," she agreed.

"Good." One hand dislodged from hers; a rough thumb stroked her cheek. "Sleep well," he added, voice growing drowsier.

Sango stayed awake a few moments longer pondering the overwhelming contentment beyond the simple hug, and the disappearance of that nagging feeling.

* * *

Even when the worst of winter passed, he continued to share her pallet – and Sango saw no reason to protest. She loved her brother and saw the added spring in his step, the smile that came more readily...

Maybe all he had been lacking was physical intimacy. As befitted siblings, naturally.

They had been raised by a stern but loving father; touching was rare, hugging even more so. Accomplishments were rewarded by gruff words and a look of fatherly pride. She, the pride of the slayers' village, basked in her father's reticent love; Kohaku, who was everything she was not, received very little.

Even after losing everything, she had friends who had showered her with their affection; Miroku more so. Intrusively physical, with his wandering hands which never stopped touching, _feeling_.

It was little surprise she had fallen for him; he gave her the tangible love she had been lacking ever since her mother had passed away.

Her little brother had been deprived of physical contact, even of non-physical love and approval; Sango felt guilty now. He was too shy, too quiet, too gentle to be left alone as he had been.

And the slayer began to show her affection – in small ways, at first. She was unused to demonstrative gestures.

Sango was gratified to see him respond; he had been hungering for her touch for so long.

He reminded her so of Miroku; if she cared to squint hard enough, Kohaku would blur and be replaced by _his_ face.

* * *

Kagome and Inuyasha came back after the winter from Kagome's land, where they had been staying. They had already celebrated the new year with her family in the morning and were here, back in their other home to celebrate with their other family. Both were dressed in new kimonos, even Inuyasha.

They looked so happily domestic, it broke Miroku's heart.

"Any change?" asked the young woman in a low voice, as Sango laughed, amused by the antics of Shippou and Kirara.

Miroku's eyes, fixated on Sango, took on a downcast look. "There was a brief moment, last autumn when she recognized me," he said at last. "But it passed."

Kagome bit her lip. "I see," she said presently. The solemn face wreathed in sorrow looked incongruous paired with the gaily-patterned yukata she wore. "So Sango-chan has not yet recovered..."

"Don't let it affect you," added Miroku hastily. "Shougatsu is a time of rejoicing, to welcome the new year."

Inuyasha approached them then. His face set, he folded his arms – but when he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically gentle. "You know what this means, Miroku. Another year has passed."

The monk fell silent. "Yes. Another year has come and gone."

"Miroku-sama..."

"I'm fine." Miroku took a step forward. "I know she will be too." With that, he walked towards Sango.

"Keh. Stubborn bastard," said Inuyasha, but there was no anger in his words.

Kagome clutched his sleeve. "I just don't want Miroku-sama's heart to be broken. What if Sango-chan doesn't get better? What if – " she choked back a sob, " – what if she spends the rest of her life like this?"

His arm tightened around her. "She won't. Sango's a lot stronger than that."

* * *

Sango was tidying the house; now that the new year had arrived, it was time to sun the things in the house. Her brother was out, called on an extermination mission, and she was determined to lighten his load.

She had not been counting on the fact that housework was proving to be more daunting a task than slaying a youkai ten times her size.

As she was dragging out the unwieldy sleeping mats to air, the corner of the mat caught Miroku's suzuribako and knocked it over with a solid thunk.

"Damn," swore the slayer. She wondered what it was doing out – and remembered he was writing a letter before he left. "Kohaku must have forgotten to put it away."

Dropping her burden, she pushed the suzuribako upright with one hand – and gasped as the front drawer fell out, spilling its contents all over the floor.

Sango cursed her clumsiness. As she was scooping the brushes, inkstones and rolls of paper back into the box, her hand stilled as it brushed against a strange object. It made a familiar rattling sound.

_It can't be..._

Sango's fingers closed around the sky-blue prayer beads – the beads she remembered Miroku always wore around his right wrist. "Miroku."

Her chest tightened. _He never takes them off, he needs them to keep the Kazaana sealed – _

– _that's not right. No – we killed Naraku. He's dead. The Kazaana is gone for good – Houshi-sama kept the beads, ring and glove as good-luck charms – _

Her head was spinning worse than ever as memories real and imagined jostled for her attention. Ignoring the growing pain, she persisted in her train of thought –

And then –

– she _knew_.

Miroku's shakujou jangled loudly. "Ane-ue, I'm home." She heard the familar sound of his footsteps at the door.

Sango slowly got to her feet. Her head neither hurt, nor felt like it was swimming in fog. Everything was crystalline clear yet painful now, like the jagged diamonds of Inuyasha's Kongosouha.

It hurt... and yet she welcomed it like an old friend; accepted it like her due, repaid thousandfold.

"Miroku," she said, tears spilling from her eyes, "I remember everything."

* * *

He stared, stunned, for the space of three heartbeats before dropping to his knees before her.

"Sango..." he said hoarsely, stretching out a trembling hand to cup her cheek. His free arm wrapped around her waist; Miroku had yet to notice she did not return his embrace. "Is it really you?"

"Yes." Sango was surprised to hear her own voice completely calm. "And I remember _everything_."

He flinched, startled at the bitter tone. "Sango?"

She pulled away – ignoring the protests of her body – and looked at her husband. "Miroku, how long has it been since my accident?"

He hesitated. "... It isn't important," said Miroku, forcing a smile, "what matters now is that you've recovered."

Sango's eyes caught his, forced him to break the contact and look away. "It's been more than two years, hasn't it?" she whispered.

_Two years, three moons and nine days._ "Yes."

Miroku tried to hold her again; surprise and hurt flashed across his face when she gently pushed away his hands.

"Sango?"

"I..." She bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Miroku." Sango got to her feet slowly. "I can't – I don't deserve – "

"What?" he asked. She had to look away because it was breaking her heart to see him. "Why?"

Disgust and self-loathing welled up; she covered her mouth with her hand, fighting back sudden nausea. "I thought you were Kohaku – my brother – I'm sorry – so wrong – "

He was beside her in an instant, catching her wrists and shaking. "Sango, calm down!" Miroku said sharply. He was as pale as she was.

She collapsed against him, clinging to the front of his robes and letting the tears come. He held her – and this time she let him.

When Sango had calmed down sufficiently, Miroku touched her cheek, tilting her face up towards his. "Sango, it's alright."

"No, it's not," she protested. "It was wrong. It must have been so hard for you..."

Miroku's eyes darkened. "I won't deny it was hard." His hand found the curve of her jaw, cupping it lightly. "It certainly was at first – but seeing you happy made it easier."

Sango's hands fisted in his robes. "Happy?" She felt guilty at that; yes, she had been happy, thinking Kohaku had returned to her for good. She had almost been content, gradually adapting to life without Miroku... "I thought you'd left me..."

"It didn't matter whether I could be around or not," interrupted Miroku softly. "So long as you could still find reasons to smile, because Kohaku was there."

"How can you say that?" Sango demanded. "I love _you_, Miroku. What makes you think Kohaku could ever replace you?" He had gone very still as she spoke. She stumbled over her next words: "... Kohaku is my little brother."

Silence hung awkwardly.

"I love Kohaku," said Sango eventually. "But not – _never_ – in the way I love you." Slowly, she disentangled her hands from his clothes. "He can never replace you." This time, there was less of a tremble in her voice.

The monk smiled weakly. "I know."

Their eyes met and held; Sango's tearful and distraught, Miroku's calm, with the faintest hint of emotion lurking beneath. Patiently, he held out his arms to her – and she finally allowed him to comfort her.

"This doesn't change anything about the past two years," she told him, her face pressed against his neck. "I can't forgive myself." Shame burned through closed eyelids; while every word she had said about him and her brother was true, she wondered why she had not noticed the discrepancy in behaviour. Sango had been utterly convinced her husband was her brother; the weight of her error stung.

She wanted to blame the boar youkai for the wound which had robbed them of two years together; Miroku for perpetuating her delusions; her friends for not forcing her back into reality.

But beaneath all that she knew she was to blame and no other.

"It doesn't matter to me," he told her, his hand stroking her hair, his thumb grazing her cheek. "I'll forgive you even if you won't."

"I've done too many things, Miroku." The hollow tone reminded him of Kohaku. "It was just a matter of time before I did something irredeemable."

Miroku's arms tightened around her, seemingly to shield her; but he realised it was futile, that her wounds were all self-inflicted.

She was broken, and this time he could not try to fix her.

"We'll work through this together, Sango... _wife,_" he said aloud.


End file.
